Part 19

Seven arrows me assail, Each of the arrows does me wound; Between me and my God they come, Such of my body is the desire. The first one of these is Pride, Which wounds me under my belt, Often of a triumph it has me spoiled, Which otherwise I might obtain. The second arrow is Lust, To whose power I’m such a slave; Since this shaft trait’rously has me pierced, I cannot live beyond its reach. The third of these arrows is one Which pierces ’midst my very joints; Laziness, which suffers not That I the right way e’er should chuse. The fourth arrow is Covetousness, O God, ’tis mournful where it wounds; Deliverance I can never have From this load of earth upon my back. The fifth of these shafts is Gluttony, Which has brought me much reproach; Besides that it pains my self-respect, From it my body is not free. The sixth sore arrow of them all Is Anger, which me from men divides; May Mary stay them when they’re shot, Otherwise I have no help. The seventh shaft does pierce the eye, Envy, which grudges others’ good; A shaft which, however we may feel, Is one which never does us good. When these in his hand the enemy takes, Many they are by’s arms destroyed; He never shoots but what he strikes, And never strikes but what he kills. Son of God, I’ll place a pater, And the apostles’ creed as well, Between me and these wounding arms, With five psalms, or six or seven. Seven.

[277] There is a Duncan Og Albanach among the writers of religious poetry in the MS., who was most likely one of the Mac Vurrichs, and the author of these lines. It is hardly necessary to say that the poet refers in this composition to the seven mortal sins of the Roman Catholic Church.

The author is Murdoch Albanach.[278]

’Tis time for me to go to the house of Paradise, While this wound’s not easily borne, Let me win this house, famous, faultless, While others can tell of us nought else. Confess thyself now to the priest, Remember clearly all thy sins; Carry not to the house of the spotless King, Aught that may thee expose to charge. Conceal not any of thy sins, However hateful its evil to tell; Confess what has been done in secret, Lest thou expose thyself to wrath. Make thy peace now with the clergy, That thou may’st be safe as to thy state; Give up thy sin, deeply repent, Lest its guilt be found in thee. Woe to him forsook the Great King’s house, For love of sin, sad is the deed; The sin a man commits in secret, Much is the debt his sin incurs. This is a sermon for Adam’s race, I think I’ve nothing said that’s false, Though men may death for a time avoid, ’Tis true they can’t at length escape. Thou who hast purchased Adam’s race, Their blood, their body, and their heart, The things we cherish may’st thou assail, However we may them pursue. ’Tis time.

[278] Murdoch of Scotland was the first of the great race of Macvurrichs, bards to Macdonald of Clanranald. From all that can be gathered regarding him, he was an ecclesiastic, and, according to the measure of light he possessed, a man of earnest and sincere religion. It was not known, until this volume of Dean M’Gregor’s was searched, that any remains of his compositions existed; but here we find several, all very much of the same character. There is one long poem to the cross, which appears to have been modelled on the early Latin hymns. Murdoch of Scotland, or Muireadhach Albanach, would appear to have lived between A.D. 1180 and 1220. Mr. Standish H. O’Grady, late President of the Ossianic Society of Dublin, kindly sent to the writer some years ago a poem, still preserved in Ireland, containing a dialogue between Muireadhach and “Cathal Cròdhearg,” the red-handed Cathal O’Connor, King of Connaught, on the occasion of their embracing a religious life. Cathal’s “floruit” is known to have been between A.D. 1184 and 1225. As the lines are curious, they are inserted here.

Cathal croibhdhearg agus Muireadhach Albanach maraon iar n-dul anns na braithribh dhoibh, cecinerunt:--

A Mhuireadhaigh, meil do sgian, go ’m bearram inn do’n Aird-rìgh, Tabhram go milis ár mòid, ’us ar dhà trillis do ’n Trianaid, Bearraidh mise do Mhuire, an bhreath so is breath òr-chridhe, Do Mhuire bearr am bàrr so, a dhuine seang, sùlmhal so. Anamh leat, a mhaca ghlan, sgian tar do bharr do’d bhearradh, Fa mhionca rioghain bhinn bhog, a cìreadh a cinn thugad. Gach ré n’uair do foilethi dhuinn, us do Bhrian ard bhairr chladh-ùir, ’Us do fhoileinn uair eile ri stuaidh fhoiltfhinn Bhoroimhe. Do ghrinn comh-shnamh ’us Ua Chàis, air linntibh fuara Forghais, Air teacht air tìr leis o’n linn, do ghrinn ’us Ua Chais coimhshling, An dha sgian so leath air leath, do rad dhuinn Dunchadh Cairbreach, Nior b’fhearr dhà sgian de sginibh; bearr gu mìn a Mhuireadhaich. Meil do chlaidheamh, a Chathail, chosnas am Banbha braonsgathaidh, Ni chuala gun fhachuin d’fhearg, a Chathail chuanna, chròdheirg, Dion air fhuachd ’s air ainteas inn, a inghin uasail Ioachaim, Dean ar coimhead ’s an tìr theith, a ro gheag mhìn, a Mhuire. A Mhuireadhaich.

TRANSLATION.

Cathal Crodhearg and Murdoch of Scotland, on entering among the brethren, sung:--

Murdoch, whet thy knife, that we may shave our crowns to the Great King, Let us sweetly give our vow, and the hair of both our heads to the Trinity. I will shave mine to Mary, this is the doing of a true heart, To Mary shave thou these locks, well-formed, soft-eyed man. Seldom hast thou had, handsome man, a knife on thy hair to shave it, Oftener has a sweet, soft queen, comb’d her hair beside thee. Whenever it was that we did bathe, with Brian of the well-curled locks, And once on a time that I did bathe, at the wall of the fair-haired Boroimhe, I strove in swimming with Ua Chais, on the cold waters of the Fergus. When he came ashore from the stream, Ua Chais and I strove in a race. These two knives, one to each, were given us by Duncan Cairbreach, No knives of knives were better, shave gently then, Murdoch. Whet your sword, Cathal, which wins the fertile Banva, Ne’er was thy wrath heard without fighting, brave, red-handed Cathal, Preserve our shaved heads from cold and from heat, gentle daughter of Joachim, Preserve us in the land of heat, softest branch, Mary. Murdoch.

The above Murdoch.

That there should be in God’s Son’s heart A sinner like me, how great the tale, And that there should to me be given, On my lips to have the cross of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, sanctify as thou art wont, My two feet, and my two hands, Sanctify me of thy good will, Even my blood, and flesh, and bones. I never cease committing sin, Because that my body loves it well; May consecration come from afar, Upon my head and on my heart. Glorious great One, save thou me From every grief which me has seized, Ere I’m laid beneath the turf, May my way be plain and smooth. That.

The author of this is Murdoch Albanach.

Thou Trinity, do thou me teach, Thou Lord, whose praise all men must sing, Thou Trinity, come on my tongue, Bless it in thy judgment great. Holy Trinity in the heavens, Strengthen thou my spiritual arms; Come to, and dwell in my heart, Thou head of all thy holy race. Guide thou my hand, and teach my heart, Teach my eye, thou King of truth; Come to my voice, move on my tongue, Quicken my ear, and bless my lips. This is the mouth which ye have torn, Which checks men’s conflicts, nought forgets; This is the tongue that ne’er spared speech, Bless it, Beloved of my soul. From thee, O Trinity, alas! O Trinity, Let healing come, speak thou to me; There is, as in the white-wood oak, In me a sinful, corrupt heart. Though sinful, I never man destroyed, Ne’er did I steal, O Son of God; Never did my hand slay man, For Mary’s love, answer thou me. ’Tis true, I’ve made lying refuges, Deceived by lies of men of fame, Building on others’ lie my lie, O King, shall I in this succeed? Thou who in me prayer begett’st, ’Tis no sin to follow thee; ’Twas neither righteous men nor great, But God a refuge found for me. No man in this world can me teach, But only thou, O Lord, alone, None keepeth truth but heaven’s King, To His wisdom none is like, If I am in the way of truth, My tonsure vow requires it all; If, O Trinity, on a lie I rest, Lead me to the way of truth. Earth or clay shall not me cover, But waves of judgment, little the wrath, Nothing else shall be to hide me, But, O King, burning red-flamed fire. Trinity, thou mad’st this world, Both of fire and of earth; Of earth and fire all men are made, So at the end it will be found.

GENEALOGY OF THE MACGREGORS.

John son of Patrick, son of Malcom, son of John the black, son of John, son of Gregor, son of John, son of Malcom, son of Duncan the little, son of Duncan from Srulee, son of Gilelan, son of Hugh of Urchy, son of Kenneth, son of Alpin; and this Kenneth was head king of Scotland, in truth, at that time; and this John is the eleventh man from Kenneth, of whom I spoke.--And Duncan the servitor, son of Dougal, son of John the grizzled, wrote this from the books of the genealogists of the kings; and it was done in the year of our Lord One thousand five hundred and twelve.

THE ORIGINAL GAELIC OF

THE BOOK OF THE DEAN OF LISMORE

WITH A MODERN VERSION.

THE ORIGINAL GAELIC.

A houdir Ossan M’Finna.

Di chonna mee tylych finn, is ner vai tylych teme trea, Aggum di chonna mee scheve, di vontir in ir in nea Di chonna mee tylych art, far lar vac donna binni Far is farre ne agga mi. Di chonna mee tylych finn Dane vaga mir a chonna mee, chonna m’ynlain fa ynna Owcht is mark na vagga ea. Di chonnek mai tylych finn Goym ree ni iyg noch gi oik, za vil er mo chinni. Sin serra marreine o faynna, dyth chonna ma tylych finn. Di chonna mee tylych.

A houdir so Ossin.

Is fadda noch ni nelli fiym, is fadda liym in nycheith ryr In lay dew gay fadda zoyth, di bi lor fadda in lay de Fadda lwmmi gych lay za dik, ne mir sen di cleachta dom Gin deowe gin danyth cath, gin wea feylim class dlweth Gin nenith gin choill gin chrut, gin fronith crewi gin zneiwe gray Gin deillych ollom zor, wea gin neilli, gin oill fley Gin chin er swrri na er selgi, in da cherd rey in royth me Gin dwlli in glaow no in gath, oichane ach is derrich dow Gin wraith er ellit no er feyg, ne hawle sin bi wane lom Gin loeg er chonvert no er chon, is fadda noch na nelli fiym Gin errith gaske gnaath, gin nimert mir abaill linni Gin snaw zar leithre er loch, is fadda, etc. Din teill mir a ta mee, is trowig er bea mir a ta sinn Menir a tarruing clach, is fadda, etc. Derri ni feyni far noiss, is mee Ossin mor m’finni, Gesticht re gowow clokki, is fadda, etc. Faye a phatrik zoein o zea, fiss in nini in bea sinni Gith serrir marrien roith locht, is fadda, etc. Is fadda.

MODERN VERSION.

An t-ùghdair Ossian mac Fhinn.

Do chunnaic mi teaghlach Fhinn, ’us nior bu teaghlach tioma tréabh, Agam do chunnaic mi sabh, de mhuinntir an fhir an dé. Do chunnaic mi teaghlach Airt, fear le’r mhac donna binn, Fear is fearr ni faca mi. Do chunnaic mi teaghlach Fhinn. Do ni fhac mar a chunnaic mi, chunnaic mi mac an Luinn fa Fhinn. Och! is mairg na faca e. Do chunnaic mi teaghlach Fhinn. Do’m ré ni ioghnadh gach olc, dha bheil air mo cheann. Sinn saora marruinn o phèin. Do chunnaic mi teaghlach Fhinn. Do chunnaic mi teaghlach.

Is e ùghdair so Ossian.

Is fad an nochd na neula faim, is fada leam an oidhche an raoir, An la an diugh ge fada dhomh, do bu leor fada ’n la an dé, Fada leam gach la a thig, ni mar sin bu chleachdadh leam Gun deabhtha gun deanamh catha, gun bhi foghlum cleas dlù. Gun nigheanaibh, gun cheòl, gun chruit, gun phronnadh cnaimh gun ghniomh gré, Gun tuilleadh fhoghluim gheire, bhi gun fheill, gun òl fleidh, Gun chion air suiridh, no air sealg, an da cheard ri an robh mi, Gun dol an gleò no an cath, ochan! ach is deurach domh, Gun bhreith air eilid no air fiadh, ni h’amhuil sin bu mhiann leam, Gun luaidh air chonbheart no air chon, is fad an nochd na neula faim, Gun eiridh gaisge ghnàthaich, gun imirt mar a b’àill leinn, Gun snàmh d ’ar laochruidh air loch, is fad an nochd na neula faim, Do ’n t-saoghal mar a ta mi, is truagh ar bith mar a tha sinn, ’Nam sheanair a tarruing chlach, is fad an nochd na neula faim. Deireadh na Feinn far nis, is mi Ossian mòr mac Fhinn, Ag eisdeachd ri guthaibh chlog, Is fad an nochd na neula faim. Faigh a Phadruig dhuinn o Dhia, fios an inbhe am bi sinn, Gu saorar marrainn roimh lochd, is fad an nochd na neula faim. Is fad.

[Sidenote: ANCIENT.]

Auctor hujus Ossin.

La zay deacha finn mo rayth, di helg er sleyve ny ban finn Tri meillith wathyon ny wayn, ne zeaath skaow vass in ginn Ossin is vinni lwmmi di zloyr, bannicht foiss er anmyn finn Agus innis gay wayd feyg, hwtti er sleyve ny ban finn. Ga mor lewe crathamar slee, or ni deatha voylte in loy Di hutti er sleyve ny ban finn, di zeyith lay fin nyth wlygh Innis doyf royth gith skayle, bannith er a waill gin zoyth A bayig eaddith no ermmi, a doll leive a helg gi lay Di weith eaddith agus ermmi, a doll leine a helg mir senni Ni weith feanee zeiwe ym zoe, gin leynith roylle is men Gin chottone schee schave, gin lurych sparri zeyr zlynn Gin chenvart clooth di chorrith, s zay ley in norn gi fer Gin skay neynith warryth boye, gin lanni chroye eskoltith kenn A nearryth in doythin fayn scheath, ne royth nath bi zer no finn Is schea a barri enicht is awge, ne zeath lav vassa chinn Doll in dastill a choyn zill, gi aggin er farri mir finn Cath eggr a choymir schear, a helg er sleyve ni ban finn A phatrik ayd chinni ni glar, di balin grann vass ir ginni Noyr a hwyth finni r gonni da binni seirri agus schear Gow gyir o chnok gow cnok, a meskeith hork is feaygh Di weith finn agus brann, nane swe selli er in tleywe Gyth fer rewe in nayd helg, no ger eirryth kolg in feark Di leggymir tre m cowe, a barri lowe syth way gi garga Warwe gith cowe zewe da eyg selli fa neyd yn eyll na hard Di hwtti vi meill feyg bar er a zlann di weith fane tleyve A haggus eyg agus arbe ne zarne selgi mir sen reywe Gir bee deirrith ir selgi hear, a clarre oyd ni glar is ni glok Deich kayd kow fa lawre oyr hutti fa leon x c tork Di huttidir lyne ni twrk, a roynith ni helg er in lerga Mir a weyg r lanith is r lawe di verdis air er in telga A phatrik ni baichill fear, a wakka tow hear no horri Selga in lay raid lin a waynew fin bi woyth no sen Ach sen selga a roinith finn v’alpin ni minni blayth Gar ni goyllane ansi cheille, gi bi winni laym ane lay Lay za deach.

[Sidenote: MODERN.]

Is e ùghdair so Ossian.

La dhe ’n deachaidh Fionn mo ghràidh, do shealg air Sliabh nam ban fionn, Tri mile de mhaithibh na Feinn, na deagh sgiathan os an cionn. Ossian is binn leam do ghlòir, beannachd fòs air anam Fhinn, Agus innis cia meud fiadh, thuit air Sliabh nam ban fionn. Cia mòr luath chratham ar sleidh, oir ni deachaidh uait a luaidh Do thuit air Sliabh nam ban fionn, do rheidh le Fionn nam fleadh. Innis doibh romhad gach sgeul, beannachd air a bheul gun ghò. Am bitheadh éideadh no airm, a dol leibh a shealg gach lò? Do bhitheadh éideadh agus airm, ’dol leinn a shealg mar sin, Ni bhitheadh Fian dhiubh a ’m ghuth, gun léine sroil is min, Gun chotan ’us i seimh, gun luireach ’us barr geur glan, Gun cheannbheart cloch de chorr, ’s a dha shleagh ’an dorn gach fir, Gun sgiath nimhneach bheireadh buaidh, gun lann chruaidh a sgoltadh cheann, An iarraidh an domhain fa seach, ni robh neach bu gheir no Fionn, Is e a b’fhearr fhineadh ’us agh, ni dheachaidh lamh os a chionn, Dol an tasdail a choin ghil, cia againn fear bhàrr mar Fionn? Gu h-eagar chaidhmir siar, a shealg air Sliabh nam ban fionn. A Phadruig oide chinn na cleir, do b’aluinn grian os ar cionn, ’An uair a shuidh Fionn m’ar coinnimh, do binn sear agus siar, Guth gadhar o chnoc gu cnoc, a mosgladh thorc agus rhiadh. Do bhi Fionn agus Bran, ’nan suidh seal air an t-sliabh, Gach fear dhiubh ’an eud seilg, no gur eireadh colg am feirg, Do leigeamar tri mile cù, a b’fhearr lùth ’s a bha garg. Mharbh gach cu dhiubh sin da fhiadh, scal fa’n deachaidh iall ’an aird. Do thuit se mile feidh barr, air a ghleann do bhi fo ’n t-sliabh. Na th’ agaibhse fhiadh agus earb, ni dheanadh sealg mar sin riamh. Gur b ’e deireadh ar sealg shear, a chleirich oide nan cleir ’s nan clog, Deich ceud cu fo shlabhraidh òir, thuit fo leòn deich ceud torc, Do thuit leinn na tuirc, a rinn na h-uilc air an leirg. Mar bhitheadh ar lann ’us ar lamh, do bheirdeas àr air an t-seilg. A Phadruig nam bachull fior, am faca tu shear no shoir, Sealg an la ri d’ linn, o Fhianaibh Fhinn bu mho na sin? Ach sin sealg a rinn Fionn, mhic Alpainn nam mionn blath, Thar na gòlan anns a chill, gum bu bhinue leams’ an la. La dh’ an deachaidh.

[Sidenote: ANCIENT.]

Actor hujus Ossin.